


Small Miracles

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bickering, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Episode Style, Established Relationship, Five Year Mission, M/M, POV Outsider, if we are talking azcrow, if we are talking spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: What if Aziraphale and Crowley decided that Alpha Centauri wasn't far enough away? What if they ran off to the next galaxy?And what if, 300 years later, the Enterprise ran into them?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 61
Kudos: 587
Collections: Most Favs, Outsider Views of Good Omens





	Small Miracles

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this a gazillion years ago so i have no idea if i researched the science included so please bear with the pseudo science
> 
> this fic would not be finished or published without the help of the Ineffable Bureaucracy Server and the support of Euny_Sloane
> 
> beta'ed by euny and wingittofreedom. Much love to y'all

Jim wakes up when he hits the floor of his quarters.

Shortly thereafter, all remaining sleep is wiped away by the blaring of the captain’s alert claxons.

Why did he have to have a personal alarm? Couldn’t they just comm him?

“What the fuck?” Kirk murmurs to himself, moving as quickly as possible to toss on his uniform, falling into a run the minute the doors of his quarters snick open, ship starting to shake under some unseen force.

When he arrives, the bridge is in chaos. Lieutenant Halloran is buzzing in the captain’s chair like an anxious bumble bee, yelling orders at the helmsman who seems to be staring at the console, immobile.

“Lieutenant Halloran—report!” Kirk shouts as she vacates the chair.

“Unknown, Captain. We were travelling through the asteroid belt and then we weren’t and now we’re not moving.”

That did _not_ sound good.

“Helmsman...” Oh, it was...Smith. “Smith, readings?”

“What Lieutenant Halloran said, sir. I’ve still got the Kepler Alpha coordinates in, but it’s like the ship can’t _find_ it.”

Jim rubs the tension from his eyes. He’s only slightly successful. He hates middle of the night calls. Jamming his finger into the call button on his chair, he barks, “Mr. Spock to the bridge.”

“Aye, Captain,” is the response. The damn Vulcan sounds like he’s been awake the whole time.

Jim tries to listen to the science officer explain the situation—why are all the science officers so bad at explaining compared to Spock?—he finds himself relieved when Spock appears at his side.

“Are you discussing the source of the spatial disturbance?”

“Good guess, Mr. Spock. Ensign Wexler was explaining our little bout of turbulence but I was hoping you could piece things together for me?”

“Of course, captain,” Spock says, not even ribbing him about that guessing bit, which makes Jim think things might actually be serious.

Less than ten minutes later, Spock approaches him in the chair. “Based on Ensign Wexler’s readings, and my own calculations, we are in the Andromeda Galaxy. To borrow a human metaphor, we are in ‘uncharted waters’.”

Jim closes his eyes. Andromeda Galaxy. 

“Pardon my disbelief, Mr. Spock, but if I remember my cosmology classes correctly, isn’t that nearly 2 and a half million light years away from Federation space? How could we possibly be in the Andromeda Galaxy?” His hackles are rising against his better judgment. This isn’t Spock’s fault. Despite that, he can’t help his natural fight or flight response to a threat.

“2.35 million, Captain, and I do not know at this time.”

“Anything? A guess?” At Spock’s glare, he amends, “A supposition? Based on the available facts?”

Spock purses his lips. “The two most logical options are either, one: we happened upon a wormhole that has brought us here, or two: a being with greater power than our own has transported us for their own purposes.”

“And 2.35 million lights years? How long would it take for us to get home on our own?” Kirk asks, knowing the answer probably isn’t good. He might not be Spock but he at least knew warp was meant for distances of thousands of light years not millions.

“More than either of our lifetimes,” Spock replies and Kirk’s heart drops.

“Options?” Jim asks and for a moment the weight of the captaincy is a palpable thing. More than ever before the fate of hundreds of people is in his hands.

“With the current facts at our disposal, I would recommend seeking out a habitable planet that we may colonize if no other alternatives present themselves. Our resources were meant to sustain a crew of this size for five years and no longer. Maintaining fuel levels and obtaining additional food and water should be our priority.”

Jim nods. That’s exactly what he had been thinking.

“Jim,” Spock begins, and at the sound of his name Kirk can’t help but meet his eyes with a brittle smile. It’s always a beautiful thing, hearing Spock say his name. “If I may speak freely…”

“Anytime, Spock. You don’t have to ask.”

Spock nods briskly, his hands falling behind his back into parade rest. “We should assemble the alpha crew and discuss our next steps. Their insights may be invaluable in this situation.”

Jim hums in consideration. “Yeah, of course. I’ll call a meeting. 0700.”

With a jerk of his head, Spock turns back to the science station and begins to discuss their situation in hurried and low tones with the very frightened looking Ensign Wexler.

Jim returned to the captain’s chair and sighed. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

“I’ve called you all here today to discuss what happened last night,” Jim begins, looking over the crew gathered at the table in his ready room. “Perhaps some of you were disturbed by the turbulence we encountered.”

Uhura and Chekov exchange a look and then she says, “It woke me up. Around 0200, right?”

Jim nods and then looks to Spock in hopes of finding something like support in his typically unreadable expression. He thinks he might find some, but it’s probably just wishful thinking. 

“Yes. According to the gamma crew, and after Spock’s analysis, we encountered something that essentially slingshotted us to the outskirts of the Andromeda Galaxy.”

Sulu sucks in a breath, the first of the crew to understand the implications. As the crew looks at each other, each growing more somber as the seconds pass, Jim continues, “Spock has assured me that any efforts to return to Earth via traditional means would prove fruitless. We have yet to announce it to anyone but the gamma bridge crew and now you.”

“And?” Scotty asks, his accent thick and brow furrowed.

“Spock thought—and I agreed—that you were the right people to bring together and discuss our options.”

“Are there any?” Sulu asks in a tone a bit more aggressive than Jim would usually put up with. For the sake of the situation, Jim excuses it.

Spock steps in and Jim is thankful for it. Breaking bad news is hard and while Spock isn’t _good_ at it, he always seems less affected. “The Captain and I have discussed the only feasible options. While we could attempt a return to the Milky Way, we would need to procreate to ensure future generations would be able to complete the journey. And even if enough offspring were produced to successfully run the Enterprise, there is potential for the ship to not survive the journey as time and exposure to run their natural course.”

Uhura sucks in through her teeth. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Spock inclines his head. “While I can see the logic in the option, I agree that most humans would find necessary breeding distasteful.”

Jim grimaces. “God, Spock, don’t say breeding.”

Spock gives him one of his firmer looks, quelling Jim’s impulses to joke around, lighten the mood. The Vulcan continues, “The other, preferable option, is to begin exploring the nearby star systems in search of an M-class planet capable of sustaining a colony wherein procreation will no longer be necessary but rather optional.”

Having been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the whole discussion, Bones finally breaks, slamming his hand down on the table in frustration. “So that’s it? We either fuck our way back to our galaxy or give up?”

Spock’s face didn’t even twitch. “The third and final option is to investigate the circumstances that transported us here and attempt to recreate them. It is logical to continue that research while we search for a suitable planet.”

Bones regards Spock through narrowed eyes and then returns his attention to Jim. “What do you think?”

“I agree with Spock,” he says frankly before crossing his arms over his chest. “But I wanted all of your approval before I bring the plan to the crew.”

“You have mine,” Uhura says decisively. Followed by Sulu, Scotty and a hesitant Chekov.

Bones deflates and then nods. “Fine.”

Jim looks around the room and then at Spock. 

“Alright. Now for the hard part.”

* * *

As a general rule, the Enterprise is better at taking bad news than most ships. Perhaps it’s all the strange things they’ve gone through together or the willingness that good Starfleet officers have to lay their life on the line for the sake of others. And Jim’s crew is full of some damn good Starfleet officers.

But after the news, things get quiet in a lot of the common rooms on the ship. The mess takes on a despondent air and the recreation rooms grow tense and silent.

Jim tries to keep up the spirits of the crew but he’s just one man, and if he’s honest he’s not feeling all that positive himself.

Sitting in his quarters with Spock and Bones after a long shift, they open a whiskey bottle to share and Spock actually joins in for once.

“This sucks,” Bones declares after swiftly finishing his first drink.

Jim, who was working on his own drink at a more sedate pace, sighs. “Yeah. But there’s not much we can do about it. What’s that saying, Spock? The Vulcan one?”

“Kaiidth.”

“Right, Kaiidth,” Jim says, butchering the pronunciation. 

“What the devil does that mean?” Bones demands, the whiskey doing nothing to alleviate his foul mood.

“What is, is,” Spock intones. And Jim really looks at him, sees the deep grooves around his mouth and the sadness in his eyes and he feels something so morose that he can’t possibly acknowledge it without crying.

Instead, he says, “If I’m going to be stuck at the ass end of the universe, then I’m glad it’s with you.”

He holds his glass out towards his friends who clink their own glasses against his. It’s not much, but it’s something.

* * *

“Captain,” Spock says from the science station, still bent over the viewer. 

It had been a long few weeks going from star system to star system trying to find _anything_ other than gas giants and barren rocks, and Jim isn’t feeling overly optimistic at the moment.

“Yes, Mr. Spock?” Jim replies, stifling a yawn. He hasn’t been sleeping very well, the stress of their situation taking its toll.

“According to my readings, we are approaching a star system very similar to our own. The likelihood of an earth-type planet is 93.2%.”

Jim’s heart leaps. Good news! Finally!

The rest of the day is spent charting a course to the solar system Spock detected and instead of retiring, Jim drinks extra coffee and pulls a double shift, wanting to be on the bridge if they actually _find_ something. By silent agreement, Spock remains with him, stoic as ever as he monitors the science station.

Despite his exhaustion, it’s all worth it when at 2200 hundred they fall into orbit around a planet that looks...well, it looks exactly like Earth.

“Spock,” Jim says, “Readings?”

“Planet, earth-type. Atmosphere primarily nitrogen based…”

Spock drifts off, drawing Jim’s attention from the viewscreen. “Spock?” he asks, standing up and crossing to look at the readings. Not that he’s going to read anything outside of what Spock’s already said, but, as always, being near Spock’s makes him feel a little calmer.

“The atmosphere, Captain. It’s composition is exactly that of Earth.”

Clouds continue to move across the surface of the blue and green planet in the viewscreen and Jim asks, “Any other similarities?”

Spock looks down at the viewer and pauses. “Geography almost identical to that of 21st century earth. In fact, in all regards, it appears to be an exact copy.”

Suspicions confirmed, Jim rubs his forehead. This should be good news. Instead it’s another strange thing they’ll have to investigate with no reason to believe it would turn out well.

“Life signs?” Jim asks, following the normal protocol.

Spock is silent for a moment. “Two. And by all appearances, human.”

* * *

It’s a flurry of activity the next morning when they prepare for beam down. Despite whatever regulations that should prevent the alpha crew from beaming down together, Jim doesn’t want to leave any of his key people out of what could be a decision that affects the rest of their lives.

McCoy grumbles his way onto the transporter pad, followed by a much more excited Sulu and Chekov who can’t stop chattering about the possibilities of a planet just like Earth. Uhura and Scotty are sedate, almost Spock-like in their resolve as they find their own places on the transporter.

None of them have any idea what to expect from an Earth clone with two life forms. Attempts at communication had failed and if worse comes to worst Jim thinks that the ratio of 7 to 2 should end up in the crew’s favor.

They beam down to the location where they detected lifesigns and Jim blinks in surprise. It looks just like pictures of the 21st century. There’s even a McDonald’s on the corner.

There’s no one in it. But it’s there all the same.

“This is spooky,” Uhura says from Jim’s side and Jim can’t help but agree.

The whir of a tricorder draws his attention and Jim sees Spock glaring down at the screen, his mouth tight. “As expected, all readings are identical to Earth.”

“Downright strange,” Bones comments, wandering over the sidewalks and peering in the windows of darkened shops. “Do you think the whole planet is like this? Little copies of Earth cities? Abandoned?”

Shaking off his own questions, Jim says, “Lead us to those lifesigns, Spock.”

Spock looks down at his tricorder and takes the lead with Jim close behind him all the way until the Vulcan comes to an abrupt stop in front of a brick building. Unlike all the other buildings, the lights inside this one are on. Jim nods at Spock and gestures for all the landing party to stay put.

When Jim creaks open the door, he finds himself inside an Italian restaurant unlike any he’s ever seen, vines sprawl all over the walls, surrounding sconces that put out an almost ethereal amount of light. He comes to a stop in the mouth of the first archway.

Seated in the middle of a room that seems like some sort of garden and Italian restaurant mixed together, are two beings that first spark the thought: _angels_ in Jim’s bewildered mind.

The wings Jim had been certain the two men were sporting disappear as one of them notices him. A hallucination?

A portly man with blond hair flaps his hand at his companion. “My dear, look!”

His accent is...old-fashioned and Jim can’t quite place it. It’s standard but like nothing he’s heard before. Accented like old Earth holos.

The other man—red-haired and with long awkward limbs that somehow remind Jim of Spock—twists to look at him with bleary yellow eyes.

Snake?

He’s clearly intoxicated because the first noise out of his mouth is, “Nuh.”

Jim lifts his hand in a small wave.

“Quite a place you’ve got here,” he offers in a purposefully light tone. They don’t seem an immediate threat and in his experience, starting out friendly is better than starting out with a gun. That being said, at this point he’s run into enough beings masquerading as humans that he’s on his guard.

“Are you human?” the portly man asks. Then his hands flutter to the napkin in his lap, a fretful gesture. “My apologies, I suppose that was quite rude. It’s been some time since we’ve talked to anyone but each other. How long?” he asks the man across from him who is still squinting at Jim.

“Crowley!” the blond man demands, drawing the attention of the gangly one. “How many years?”

“Mmm, couple centuries. Who knows.”

Centuries? Not human then.

Another situation where the prime directive seems like a loose guideline. Century-old beings on a planet that Jim hopes he and his crew can colonize? He thinks Starfleet would understand letting the rules slide a bit.

Jim feels Spock’s approach before he sees him, the Vulcan settling at his side. 

“See, well it’s been quite a while.” The man’s face transforms into a moue of disappointment. “I’ve also quite forgotten myself. I’m Aziraphale and this is my associate, Crowley.”

The skinny man—Crowley apparently—scoffs. “Associate, eh?”

“You _know_ what I mean,” Aziraphale says, reprimand clear in his voice.

Looking between them, a bit bewildered, Jim holds up his hands. “I’m James T. Kirk and this is my _associate_ Mr. Spock. A few of my friends are out in the street.”

Aziraphale putters over, walking around them and staring with something like awe. “Are you really human?”

“He’s not,” Crowley says, gesturing at Spock. “Ears.”

“You are correct,” Spock replies. “I am not human. However, the majority of our cohort is.”

“Oh my,” Aziraphale says, hand going to his chest in distress. “Aliens? But there’s no such thing,” he says, looking to his associate for confirmation.

The snake-eyed man just shrugs. “Apocalypse, yada-yada. Anything’s possible, Aziraphale.”

Shaking himself, Aziraphale steps forward to take Jim’s hands in his. As their hands touch, a feeling of pure peace suffuses him. It’s so intense that he thinks for a moment that he might fall asleep. “How did you survive? Did more humans than you and your...crew survive?”

At that moment, Bones comes up behind them. “What in the name of—”

Looking between Aziraphale and Jim, the doctor sucks in a deep breath. “I’m not paid enough for this,” he mumbles under his breath before putting his hands on his hips and glaring. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man at the table brays with laughter. “I like that one!”

Bones raises an eyebrow at Jim. 

“Erm, excuse me,” Aziraphale says, dropping Jim’s hand. Jim immediately wishes that he hadn’t as the anxiety from the last several weeks rushes back. 

“I’d like to meet the rest of these friends of yours,” Aziraphale continues looking back at Crowley who rolls his strange eyes.

Jim hesitates for a moment. He’s not sure what sort of power these beings have and yet he can’t shake the feeling of safety that Aziraphale practically exudes from every pore. “They’re outside. C’mon.”

Jim hears an excited “Crowley! Humans!” from behind him but keeps walking forward. What a strange thing. Though perhaps not any stranger than some of the other things they’ve run into.

The rest of the group are all waiting anxiously outside the building when Jim emerges, their new potential friends in tow.

“Oh, you really are all human, how delightful!” Aziraphale says flitting about them excitedly. Then he freezes as if some terrible thought has struck him. “How did you get here? We’re awfully far away from Earth. Was it those rocket ships? Humans were so obsessed with space travel when we left.”

“So you are from Earth,” Jim says, suspicions confirmed.

“Well, er,” Aziraphale says, shooting Crowley a pleading look. “Yes.”

 _That_ makes Jim look at Spock who just raises that infernal eyebrow as if to say _beats me_.

A moment later Aziraphale brushes off the odd moment, and is going around the group, enthusiastically shaking everybody’s hands while Crowley stands in the back, arms crossed. Somehow sunglasses have appeared from nowhere and are settled on his nose. They obscure his eyes and make him look more at ease. But still drunk.

By now, the entirety of the landing party looks as bewildered as Jim feels with the exception of Bones who won’t stop scowling.

“Listen,” Jim says, stepping forward and interrupting Aziraphale’s rapid-fire Russian conversation with Chekov. “We appreciate the welcome but we’re actually here to find a place where we can settle. Maybe live—so, unless you can tell us anything, we need to keep exploring.”

“Live? Here? Why would you want to do that if you could go home?” Aziraphale asks. He glances at Crowley again and they exchange a look that conveys something Jim can’t follow.

“We don’t think we can.”

“We are still assessing the situation,” Spock adds, shooting Jim a warning look. He probably thinks he’s being too forthcoming. But Jim is good at reading people and he doesn’t think Aziraphale is a threat.

Aziraphale blinks at Spock and then gives him a small smile. “You know, I think we both have a lot of questions—I know I do—so perhaps we should go somewhere where we can talk. We may be able to help each other.”

They end up in the McDonald’s near the beam down point. The lights somehow miraculously work and Chekov and Sulu disappear into the back, poking at the machines in awe. Aziraphale and Crowley stuff themselves into a booth and Jim lowers himself into the chair across from them.

“Why don’t you share the pertinent details of your situation, Mr. Kirk,” Aziraphale says, folding his hands on the table in front of him. At some point, Crowley’s drunkenness had mysteriously disappeared and he’s glowering at Jim and Spock. Well, not everybody could be friendly. 

Jim thinks on the prime directive but the lives of all his crew outweigh whatever rules Starfleet could possibly impose. “I’m James T. Kirk. Captain of the USS Enterprise. A starship. From Earth.”

“Jim,” Spock says in a warning tone.

“What? This is the first planet we’ve found that can sustain our crew. The first glimpse of hope. If these are the only people here then we need to know if we can stay here. What the risks are.”

Spock purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. Jim wonders what sort of talking to he’s going to get when they return to the ship. He’s definitely going to be in the doghouse for a while.

“How many people are in this crew of yours?” Aziraphale asks.

“About 400.”

“427,” Spock corrects tersely.

“Thanks,” Jim says, trying not to roll his eyes.

Aziraphale looks to Crowley who turns his head to meet his gaze and then he groans. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have to know.”

“At least do it somewhere private,” Crowley says, jerking his head at the rest of the alpha shift where they are loitering in other booths.

“Fine,” Aziraphale says huffily and then he looks back at Jim. “Is there somewhere private we can go? Perhaps on this starship of yours?”

Not looking at Spock—certain he’s trying to burn a hole in Jim’s skull with his disapproving gaze—Jim says, “I think we can manage that.”

With that, he calls for beam up (plus 2) and dismisses the alpha crew. He takes the two men to a conference room, Spock hot on their heels.

Aziraphale sits calmly at the table while Crowley prowls around the room, poking at the bulkheads and looking generally peeved.

“Apologies for requesting a bit more privacy. It’s simply that this is perhaps a sensitive topic and reducing the potential negative reactions is ideal.”

A little bit of dread worms its way into Jim’s stomach. 

“Could you elucidate?” Spock prompts.

“Of course. You see about 350 years ago, Earth experienced the apocalypse.”

Jim can’t help snorting but when Aziraphale looks at him archly, he waves his hand in apology. “Sorry, I don’t really do that Christianity stuff. It’s pretty old-fashioned.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you but that ‘Christianity stuff’ is very real. Or it was. Should still be I suppose. I still have my powers. Crowley?”

“Of course I still have my powers. You’d bloody well know if I didn’t,” Crowley snaps from near the door.

While Jim was trying to suspend his disbelief, Spock steps in smoothly. “You said ‘apocalypse,’ which, if I understand your meaning, involves the destruction of the planet Earth by human or occult forces. However Earth was not destroyed 350 years ago.”

“Yes, I’m seeing that,” Aziraphale says. “I’m having difficulty wrapping my head around it. The antichrist was born unto Earth. Crowley was there for it you see. And the world was supposed to end. We couldn’t stop it.”

He sounds like he might cry and Jim isn’t sure how to handle that. “Me and my crew are proof that humans still exist. So does Earth. What was supposed to happen?”

“Sky raining blood. Earth cracking open. Normal apocalypse stuff,” Crowley says, finally joining the conversation as he slides into a chair at the end of the table. “Didn’t happen, did it?”

“No, no it didn’t.” Jim tries to piece this together. As ludicrous as this conversation is, Jim had encountered stranger things on his five year mission. Perhaps these two beings appear human but are centuries old beings who once lived on Earth. Or maybe they’re just crazy aliens. “What year was it supposed to end?”

“2019,” Aziraphale says.

“Computer,” Jim says, “Name all significant Terran events year 2019.”

“Working,” the computer answers as it begins to whir and then lists off every event that made world news.

“Sightings of a kraken were reported from the Pacific ocean, causing global concern, but were never proven.”

“Kraken!” Crowley cries and Jim pauses the computer’s list.

“See!” Crowley says, sunglasses sliding down his nose and revealing those disconcerting eyes. He pushes them back up.

“What are we supposed to see, Mr. Crowley?” Spock asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The kraken is a sign of the apocalypse,” Aziraphale explains. “We were there for that. It must have been averted somehow. Does this computer of yours have a record of everything?”

“Most things. Why?” Jim asks.

“Can you ask it about a human named Adam Young? Born 2008, lived in Tadfield, England.”

Jim does and the computer makes a garbled noise he’s never heard before, like it’s being censored.

“Ah,” Aziraphale says. “I suppose the antichrist wouldn’t let information about himself be recorded. I wonder if he’s dead. Though I suppose he could be immortal…”

“Forgive me, but I just want to get this straight,” Jim begins, hand going to the table as he tries to ground himself. “In the year 2019, the world was supposed to end because of some...what? 11 year old? And you were involved but then ended up in the Andromeda Galaxy?” Ancient, super-powerful beings Jim could accept, but some things beggared belief. 

“Essentially, yes,” Aziraphale answers and then he blushes. “Crowley is—was the demon assigned to Earth and I was the angel. It’s complicated.”

“Not that complicated,” Crowley scoffs. “The angel and me worked together sometimes and we didn’t want the world to end, but everything we tried didn’t work so we just...left. But I suppose we can go back now.”

He doesn’t sound very excited about it.

“Yes!” Aziraphale says, his earlier distress disappearing. “Can you imagine, Crowley? It’s been nearly 400 years. There must be so many _new_ things.”

“Go back?” Jim’s ears had pricked up. “How are you going to go back?”

“Er, same way we got here I think.” Aziraphale snaps his fingers. “Poof.”

Crowley lets out an irritated grunt. “See?” He snaps his own fingers and a bowl of blueberries appear on the table.

“Oo! Blueberries,” Aziraphale says excitedly, pulling them towards himself and popping a few in his mouth.

Jim and Spock look at each other and Jim knows he must look shocked. If Spock showed more emotion, he thinks he’d be much the same.

“Wait,” Jim begins, possibilities already prickling through his mind. “If you can just—poof.” He makes a wide gesture with his fingers. “Can’t you take us with you?”

Aziraphale frowns and then looks at Crowley who scowls back.

“I suppose it’s theoretically possible,” Aziraphale says between blueberries. “But we’ve never tried to transport something that large before.”

Spock steps in. “If, individually, you are capable of transporting a certain number of items, perhaps you could—join forces.”

Jim is so glad he’s here, he could fucking kiss him. Well. Maybe when they get back to their quarters. 

Aziraphale looks visibly excited. “Oh, what a fantastic idea!”

Crowley starts up with a low growl that draws Aziraphale’s attention. “What?” Aziraphale demands.

“And how do you propose we _join forces_ , angel?” he asks with no small amount of vitriol.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale says thoughtfully. “I think it would be just like...mingling essences. Like in Heaven for the bigger projects.”

He looks very proud to have come up with this even though it sounds like nonsense to Jim. And apparently to Crowley as well. “Mingling essences?” he asks, eyebrows almost at his hairline. “Do you think demons mingle essences? Sing kum ba yah and put our particles inside each other?”

Jim and Spock exchange a look at that little proclamation. “Perhaps, we should leave you to your discussion,” Spock says, standing up and bowing his head politely.

Jim stands too, following him out as Aziraphale says, “You don’t have to make it sound quite so lewd.”

The door swooshes shut behind them and Jim sighs.

“That seemed...promising,” Spock observes and Jim barks out a laugh.

“I don’t even know,” he says, shaking his head. “I think they might have some unresolved issues of their own.”

Spock arches a brow and says, “Indeed.”

* * *

Aziraphale calls them back an hour later.

By the look on Crowley’s face, Jim thinks that Aziraphale probably won the argument. Good. That meant they had a chance.

“So,” Aziraphale begins with a bright smile. “We should be able to connect our powers for long enough to bring us all back to Earth.”

“And how long will that take?” Jim asks. It’s just him and Spock in here with them and he’ll need to notify the crew if they decide to go through with this.

“Oh, no time at all,” Aziraphale assures him. “Whenever you give the word.”

Jim looks at Spock who nods in approval. “Alright then. I need to make a few announcements but then you’ll be good to go.”

“Good to go,” Crowley sneers quietly from his seat at the conference table.

Aziraphale gives Jim an apologetic smile before shooting a glare at Crowley.

“An hour then. That should be just fine,” Aziraphale says and then he shows Jim to the door like Aziraphale is somehow the proprietor of Conference Room B.

* * *

Jim watches from the corner as Aziraphale holds out his hand to Crowley. The ‘demon’ takes it dubiously and Aziraphale gives him a supportive smile. It would be sort of cute if it didn’t scream repression.

There’s a strange popping noise and to Jim’s eyes, Aziraphale and Crowley look like smudges, or like an oil canvas smearing. Their two distinct beings are blurring together and Jim feels something shift, like going down a hilltop too fast—and then all at once it stops.

The intercom crackles to life and Spock’s voice sounds in the conference room. “We are assuming standard orbit around Earth, Captain.”

Jim nearly crumples with relief. 

Aziraphale and Crowley are slowly unsmudging and when they are both finally separate entities, they are both breathing hard and staring at each other.

“Fuck,” Crowley says, bending over and dropping his hands onto his knees as he sucks in air. “That’s what you think about me?”

It’s then that Jim notices a conspicuous bulge in Aziraphale’s khaki pants and he realizes he should probably leave the two of them alone. He edges along the bulkhead and when he reaches the door he says, “Thanks for that. You got us out of a serious pickle—problem, uh. Yeah.”

The two entities are breathing raggedly and Jim really needs to get gone. Fast.

Aziraphale’s eyes are unfocused when he waves Jim off. And the door has barely opened when Aziraphale says, “Crowley, do you really—”

“You didn’t fucking _know_? 300 hundred years alone and you didn’t fucking know that I’m in love you with?” Crowley shrieks and Jim _definitely_ needs to get out of there.

There are sounds of _very_ messy kissing as the door slides shut and Jim hurries down the corridor towards the bridge. They’re home and there might be an angel and a demon making out in Conference Room B but he’s feeling pretty damn lucky.

He’d thank god for small miracles but he thinks that might have been a big one.


End file.
